


Just Like Pretty Woman

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Graphic Depictions of Burning Alive, M/M, Prompt Fill, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Working as a prostitute is hard enough, and being disfigured makes the work harder than ever. Wade pulls it off, and Nate finds he likes what he's seeing.





	1. Prologue: Tonight is Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsidian_snowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidian_snowflake/gifts).



The thing about mercenary work was that everything could go tits up in an instant. This is as exciting as it is terrifying, and Wade loves the job.

Loves it, that is, until he’s sitting in a truck, part of a convoy escorting some refugees over the border, and hears the tell-tale whine of a missile coming their way. It doesn’t hit their truck; it hits a truck two cars ahead, but it’s enough. The brakes slam, but the road is treacherous; Wade can feel with surreal clarity the truck tipping forward and then the whole vehicle sliding toward the edge of the road and the cliff it runs along.

“Uh, jump,” He advises, laughing because what else is he supposed to do? The people huddled in the back of the truck hasten to obey as the truck groans on the precipice. Wade, meanwhile, is busily trying to get all explosive items off his person; no grenades, no bullets; because this is going to hurt bad enough without him getting blown to shit.

By some miracle, their passengers actually all manage to scramble out of the vehicle before it goes over the edge. Wade, loose and alone in the back of the truck, screams as he’s tossed about the cabin, too preoccupied with the way he’s slammed around to wonder what might become of the refugees left unprotected in the crossfire.

The truck crashes nose-first into the ground and then flips; something sparks, something ruptures, Wade doesn’t exactly know what all happens except that he’s suddenly slammed against the ceiling and everything is engulfed in flame.

Later he will try to explain the sensation. _Imagine putting your hand on the stove and turning the burner on high_ , he says. _Imagine keeping your hand there, as you_ _r_ _flesh cooks, then burns, then starts to melt around the burner._ _Then imagine ripping your hand free, leaving behind a goodly portion of your skin. Now imagine that with your whole body._

He burns, his clothing catching and fusing to his skin. He burns, his hair going up like dry pine bows in a bonfire. He burns, he burns, and he can hear the driver and the gunner shrieking as they too begin to burn, and he thinks _when’s the part where I stop drop and roll huh?_

It’s surprisingly clear, the thought, and he wants to laugh at his own gallows sarcasm, but he’s screaming just as much as everyone else, maybe crying even, but the tears evaporate before they can really be shed. His world is pain, even trying to close his eyes hurts.

By all rights he should have died with the two men in the front of the truck, but he’s always been lucky, has Wade. He manages to flail into the back doors of the truck, bursting through into the evening air and finally dropping into the dirt and scree, sobbing and writhing on the ground. Somehow he’s moved beyond pain and into a full body awareness of agony that surpasses the actual sensation, makes it almost academic.

Too close to the burning truck, he’s lashed with dry, hot air, enough that it feels like he’ll suffocate after all. He can feel dirt and baked blood sticking to his melted, ruined skin, and wonders what kind of burns he’s amassed here. _Partial thickness? Please god just partial thickness._ _Second degree burns at least leave you with some feeling, please god don’t take that away._

He’s praying, begging a god he doesn’t quite know how to believe in, when the truck blows, throwing hot, sharp pieces of metal over him. Someone screams in pain, maybe it’s him, maybe it’s someone else, but then someone’s beating him with their jacket or shirt, putting the last of the fire out and making him _howl_ in agony.

In the dreams he has of the accident later, he dies laying on that hot, rocky ground. Dying is easier than what comes later; the hospital stay, the skin grafts, the rehab teaching him to walk again. This is a good dream, this dream of death; you don’t hurt anymore when you die, he thinks. Not like that.

Fifteen years later, he still wakes from that dream, that memory, stiff and sore from being still for so long, and checks around his shithole apartment for any sign that he’s indeed dead and is maybe just haunting this place. As haunts go, it could be worse.

But no. He’s flesh and blood and definitely living, and with the sun heading west it’s time to get to work.

He drags on his costume, thankful for the softness of the fabric where he can still feel. He doesn’t dress to hide, all too well aware that his hairless, melted-wax flesh is nothing most people want to see much of, and offering a sort of subtle middle finger to the idea that he needs to hide for their sake. Encased in suede and with his heeled boots, his legs actually look good – he’s still got a nice ass even it if’s just as scarred as the rest of him. The high heels show off the musculature he’s worked hard to build, and he’s maybe a little vain of that.

A croptop and a netted over-shirt and he’s ready to go. There will be others aiming to work his corner, and it won’t do to get lost in a sea of faces.

Whoring, after all, is just as competitive as mercenary work. Maybe more so – certainly the other working girls are willing to go for blood if it means sealing a deal or protecting turf. It’s hard, demanding work, and they’ve taught him to be careful, his friends and those who don’t particularly care for him.

After all, there are people who will hurt you for no damn reason – just like in the merc business. And looking at him, some men – it’s usually men who have this kind of mindset, the fucking pricks – see him and want to hurt him for being scarred. For the crime of not being pretty enough to be out turning tricks.

But it’s _fun_ work, and that’s what’s important, right?

Out the door and on the street, there’s a bounce in Wade’s slightly limping gait. _Tonight’s gonna pay the rent,_ he thinks, no particular reason behind it.


	2. Chapter 1: Let's Make the Most of the Night

Nathan doesn’t like to think of himself as a lonely man, but ‘isolated’, ‘solitary’, and ‘loner’ all screamed of that same ultimate conclusion. He misses regular touch, the way having someone else could drag you in and bring you home, really home. It’s sappy, honestly, and he’s not one for sap, but it’s also the truth, and he’s never been great at lying to himself.

So he’s lonely, whether he wants to think of himself that way or not.

That’s what brings him to these back streets, eyeing the people so salaciously offering their services up for sale. It shames him in some strange, sharp way that the faces of the people out here offering themselves up for an hour or an evening all seem to blur together.

He rolls to a stop at one of the less populated corners, eyeing the faces with passive scrutiny. He’s looking for someone, but he doesn’t know who yet. Putting the car in park, he waits, knowing someone will strut up to the car given time; it’s a nice car and he knows the trick of making his face look kind in spite of his tendency to frown, in spite of his scars.

Of course, the scars are still there, as are the frown lines, and he’s a powerfully built lone white man in an expensive car. Being casually intimidating is just the hand he’s been dealt, and he’s honestly a little surprised to see a tall, bald man in a fishnet shirt push his way forward, sauntering up to the car with a sway in his hips. It takes him a moment and the man getting closer for him to realized that his eye is not playing tricks with him; the man looks so strangely waxen and hairless because he _is_ , he’s been badly burned everywhere his skin shows and probably where it’s hidden too.

Nate’s heartbeat picks up a little, excitement spooling out through him, and he thinks maybe this is who he was looking for.

“Hey handsome,” the bald man says, grinning in the most endearing way. “Forty-five bucks and I’ll suck you off right in this pretty car.”

And he shouldn’t be so attractive, his mouth almost entirely lip-less, his features blurry and distorted by scar tissue, but there’s something about him, his absolute confidence maybe, or the playful glint in those bright eyes, and makes him look very appealing to Nate.

“A hundred,” Nate offers casually, “And I’ll take you out to dinner first.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the bald man laughs. “Okay Patrick Bateman, let’s see how this plays out. I draw the line at home movies.”

“But not being hunted down with a chainsaw?” Nate raises a silver brow, maintaining eye contact as he pops the lock for the other man, who laughs as he slides into the passenger seat.

“While you’re naked? Could be hot.”

Settling in and buckling his seat belt, the guy looks a little nervous despite his good humor. Nate wonders what it’s like, having to put this kind of trust in a stranger to make a living, and decides he doesn’t want to know.

As they drive away from the corner, the scarred man looks at him for a long moment. Nathan expects the obvious question, especially when those hungry eyes linger on his prosthetic arm. Instead, he says, “So, should I call ya John, or do you wanna be Patrick for the night?”

Nate snorts, smiling gently and focusing on the road. “My name’s Nathan, actually.”

“Ooo, _Nathan_ , that’s nice. How ‘bout _Nate_ , I like a nice short name to moan.”

Once again Nate laughs, shaking his head, and on impulse says, “What a coincidence.”

“ _Super_ coincidence,” the bald man says, looking at him with that grin again. “I’m Wade.”

They pull up to a stop light and Wade – it’s a good name, and surprisingly lacking in the stripper vibe the bald man puts off, enough so that Nate suspects it might actually be his real name – Wade puts his hand on Nate’s thigh and squeezes gently, running the tip of his tongue over his almost nonexistent lips.

“Your job is to drive the car,” he says, eyes glinting mischief again. “Wanna see if I can do mine at the same time?”

And it’s a tempting offer, so goddamn tempting Nate has to bite back the acquiescence that starts to form. It would be reckless and irresponsible and he’d had enough trouble getting his license with only one good eye to blow it on getting caught driving while being sucked or stroked off by a hooker named Wade.

Instead he shakes his head slightly, waiting for that hand to retract before asking where Wade wanted to go for dinner.

“Oh man, you were _serious_ about that, okay. Less Patrick Bateman, more Hannibal Lecter – the suave one, Anthony Hopkins, not Mikkelson. You gonna eat me later?”

“Only if you ask really nicely.”

Judging by the burning look Wade gives him, that was the right answer. It’s weird how well they play off one another, but Nate likes it, even if Wade’s considerably more chatty than he really prefers his company to be.

Wade mutters something to himself, looking out the window; it sounds suspiciously like ‘silver fox’ but Nate doesn’t want to be too presumptive. Could have been anything, and it wasn’t like he was a mind reader who could figure it out.

“So, dinner…?”

The other man pulls a face and hums, putting on a show of thinking before suggesting _Taco Bell_ of all things. The least sexy of the fast foods, and fast food wasn’t exactly known for is sex appeal to begin with. Nate is trying to decide if this is another of Wade’s attempts at a joke, when Wade gasps and squeezes his thigh again. “No, big spender, lets go to _Ba_ _rrio._ ”

Raising an eyebrow, Nate turns on his blinker and heads toward Tremont. Tacos weren’t usually his idea of a date night dinner, but Wade seemed excited, and that made him feel good already.

Parking is shit, even at this hour, but neither of them mind walking. Wade doesn’t seem to notice the stares he’s getting from the clientele, and Nathan likes that too. He has to be aware of how people react to his appearance, just as Nate is aware of the looks his prosthetic arm get, but Wade plays it off like it’s nothing, like the staring and cringing away isn’t happening.

Healthy people think any sign of un-wellness is contagious. They see a person in a wheelchair and hasten to limit their interaction lest they too end up unable to walk. A man with one arm? A burn victim? Contagious, contagious, something to fear and loathe.

Perhaps that’s uncharitable of him. Not every able-bodied person is like that.

But enough of them are.

Wade leads the way to a table, his heels clicking importantly on the wood floor, and grabs a menu and starts marking what he wants on his taco. He looks starved, suddenly, and his tongue sticks out a little between his teeth as he thinks over his options, and Nate finds that endearing too.

This is going to be a problem.


	3. Chapter Two: Raspberry Swirl, Let's Go

It has been a _minute_ since Wade was in a Barrio, and he’s living for it. Stoner shell, more chorizo, chihuahua cheese (why the fuck was it called that, more importantly, why was it _so_ delicious?) guac, salsa rosa; so spicy but so _good_.

Just like the way Nate kept eyeballing him, perched on his stool as he was. He might be scarred and melted to hell and back, but he had a pretty silhouette, and he knew well enough how to arrange himself so he cuts an appealing figure to someone who can overlook the fact that his skin looks like, well, a Ken doll run through the microwave and then thrown into cold water before he could fully melt.

Well, he had one up on the Ken doll; he had a cock and it still worked, most of the time.

Honestly he’s still a little concerned about this Patrick-Hannibal-Nathan-John. He’s used to people bargaining him down, thirty bucks being as low as he’ll go for giving head. He gets it; he’s ugly, he’s no prize escort, no Nichole Kidman as Satine (though he looked _great_ in a red wig). Hell, he was barely making ends meet at bargain prices: he Got The Picture.

But Nate wanted to pay _more_ for the privilege of his company _and_ take him to dinner _and_ asked him where he wanted to go. Was that serial killer behavior, or worse, some fucked up pity-driven cripple solidarity thing? He supposed it might be honest courtesy, but who the fuck showed that anymore?

“What the hell is Stoner Queso?”

Wade looks up from checking boxes on his menu sheet to lean over and look at Nate’s. “Oooh, it’s super good, just some queso and rice and you dip their chips in it, we should get some!”

“Okay,” Nate drawls, looking back at Wade. “Do I wanna know why ‘stoner’ though?”

Wade grins widely, and sits back, hooking his heels on the stool’s support. “Oh _you know_. They know their demographic.”

Nate snorts at that, shaking his head as he marks his menu. There’s quiet between them until the waitress comes and, smiling, takes their orders. Wade gives her extra kudos for not flinching when he turns to smile back at her. He’s carrying a little cash from an earlier customer, he’ll make sure she gets a nice tip if Nate doesn’t do right by her.

It’s not that long before the dip appears, and Wade mouths a thank you to the waitress before turning his attention to the food. He’s hungry and this is, while unconventional, going to be a _great_ breakfast. He immediately digs into the dip, not shy at all, and crams a delicious bite in his mouth.

When he looks at Nate again, the man has managed to smear a goodly sized dollop of queso and rice just to the side of his mouth. Wade sees this as more an opportunity than anything, a chance to remind the older man of what they’re really together for, and that it ain’t _dinner_.

He reaches out and swipes that glob of cheese and rice off Nate’s face, sucking his finger into his own mouth while making direct eye contact. It’s utterly unnecessary to swirl his tongue over the smooth pad of the digit, and to hollow his cheeks to really suck up that tasty queso, but he likes the colour it brings to Nate’s cheeks, the way his eyebrows slide up like they’re going to fly off his face.

“Tasty as dinner is lookin’, I’m still _real_ excited about dessert,” he says low and raspy and just for Nate, just to see the effect it has on him.

And it’s a good effect, the blush is pretty on those scarred cheeks and the words make Nate chuckle in a way that’s decidedly not simply amused but nervous, like he’s hiding arousal.

A serial killer would be harder to fluster, right? And someone who picked him up out of pity wouldn’t currently be so _very_ fixated on his lips, would they?

God, is it really possible that he’s found the last decent human being in America?

Neither of them talk much through the meal after that, mostly because neither of them really know what to say to the other at this point. They’re strangers after all, and while Wade isn’t _super_ fond of long silences, he can maintain quiet when it feels natural. With Nate, it does.

They both order two tacos, though Nate’s are considerably less on the overstuffed side of things, looking almost dainty in comparison to the monsters Wade ordered. As they set about eating, Wade catches Nate still watching him, and sighs internally, amused. If he’d known the dinner was going to get so sexually charged, he might have picked something a little easier to eroticize than tacos.

But what could he say, he was a simple man, with simple pleasures, and Mexican food was high on that list of pleasures.

When they finish eating, Wade making a point to lick his nail-less fingers clean as the waitress comes along to drop off the check and collect their plates, Nate pulls out a thick money clip, and drops a hundred dollar bill on top of the check. _So much for needing to make sure the waitress got a decent tip_ , Wade thinks, it being his turn now to widen his eyes and raise hairless brows. Nate’s on his feet first, offering Wade his arm and leading the way back out of the restaurant.

Back in the car, Wade leans over and murmurs in Nate’s ear, “Please lemme suck you off now, I’m serious about that dessert thing. Absolutely jonesing for it, actually.”

And he can _feel_ the way Nate swallows, so thickly and measured that Wade just _knows_ the man is already hard, just as eager as he is.

“Lemme get out from under the streetlight,” he rasps, and Wade traces his tongue over the shell of his ear before sitting back and buckling up.

“Find a place quick, Priscilla,” Wade teases. “Somewhere dark and underpopulated, sure.”

Somehow, he’s not scared of being alone in the dark with this guy. Call him crazy, but he thinks Nathan here might actually genuinely be a decent guy.

They end up in an abandoned parking lot, the lights out all around, and Wade wastes no time. Nate reclines his seat to give him a little working room, and then he’s twisting, hunching over in the dark to pop the older man’s fly, pulling out his cock and stroking it idly for a moment before sucking the tip into his mouth and getting to work.

Employing his tongue to accentuate the suction, he slurps and moans and whines hungrily as he works the other man over, shameless and delighted by how hot and bothered it seems to make Nate. He sees out the corner of his eyes Nate’s flesh had curl into a fist, and then it’s resting on the back of his head, not holding him but encouraging, petting easily over his bald scalp. He’s building up to the trick of taking that thick length into his throat when Nate gasps, stiffening in his seat, and cums before Wade can pull back.

He swallows without thinking overmuch about it, and Nate groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, which is kind of flattering.

“Tsk tsk, you’re supposed to warn a nice girl before you do that,” he says, laughing even as he says it, and Nate looks positively _sheepish_. He waits a beat before clearing his throat and adding, “So if you can just drive me back to –”

“Let me take you to a hotel,” Nate cuts him off, tucking himself away and returning his seat to it’s full upright position. “I’ll pay whatever you want. For the whole night. Or the weekend.”

And for a moment, Wade, who’s always got _something_ to say, is at a loss for words.


	4. Chapter Three: Anything You Need

To say Nate is blown away by the whirlwind the night had wound itself into would be a cliché double entendre he doesn’t want to think about.

Stop thinking about it.

Okay so Wade’s mouth was amazing, and maybe Nate’s been a _little_ touch starved lately so things happened a _little_ fast there, but he doesn’t necessarily feel bad about that. Wade certainly doesn’t seem perturbed (though Nate should have given better warning, that much was very true, maybe gotten Wade to roll a condom on him first), if anything Wade seems caught between amusement and professional distance.

The silence though, after his spur-of-the-moment proposition, is killing him. Every second that ticks by makes him want to rescind the offer, if only to get things back to that nice, playful place they’d just been. He doesn’t want Wade thinking he’s a creep.

“Look I’m –”

Wade holds up one finger and shushes him, looking thoughtful. He shuts up, watching the other man and hoping way too hard for something he’d only asked for on impulse. After a beat he says, “Where’s the money you already owe me?”

 _Shit_. Nate fumbles into his pockets and pulls out his billfold, pulling loose a c-note and an extra fifty. “A tip, for –”

Before he can even finish, Wade’s grabbed the money and is out of the car, strutting (he has a limp, Nate notices, watching him fade into the dark, but it does nothing to stop his hips from swaying) away at a sort of power-walking pace.

Nate understands, he does, but there’s still a moment of indignant anger. He has no _right_ to be angry, this is no slight against him and he has no claim on Wade’s time or services, and he’s aware of that, so the anger settles in the pit of his stomach and is crushed under a wave of shame. After a moment, he turns the car on and drives after Wade, who’s only made it halfway across the parking lot. Cruising slowly beside him – Wade doesn’t break stride or even look at him – he rolls the passenger side window down and says, “At least let me drive you back.”

“Nope, I can walk,” Wade replies, and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he really falls but just barely. “Pay no attention to that. Take your weird fetish and drive, big guy.”

“It’s not about a weird fetish, Wade.”

That gets the other to at least _look_ at him, and his expression is conflicted. Nate feels a weird surge of triumph even though nothing’s going right; there’s just enough doubt in that expression to show that Wade’s _thinking_ about rejoining him.

“Hand to god, it’s not.”

“Then what?” Wade demands, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips. “You wanna play house? Does it escape you that I look like a scrotum and an avocado got busy and then lit their baby on fire?”

 _Ah_. That brings things into some kind of clarity for Nate, and he smiles gently. “Yeah, actually.”

“What, you wanna play house?”

“It _escapes me_ that you’re so,” he gestures vaguely, “ugly, I suppose is what you’re saying.”

“God, you _drive_ with those eyes?”

Nate gives Wade a look, sighing. The man was stubborn and difficult and tried to make everything a joke, he already saw that much. “So you have scars. So do I. It doesn’t matter.” And it _doesn’t_ matter, not in any important way, but Wade doesn’t seem to fully believe him.

Still, after a moment, he leans in and yanks open the car door, sliding back into the passenger seat. He remains close to the door, arms crossed as soon as he has his seat belt on. “You can drive me back. And just FYI, I know how to get out of a moving car, so no funny business.”

The radio fills the silence, old rock ballads playing softly between them as Nate backtracks his way toward where he’d picked Wade up in the first place. Nate wants to talk, but he’s worried about it being taken as ‘funny business’ and so refrains. Judging by the way Wade’s leg bounces, he’s in a similar predicament, but he seems determined not to talk.

It’s a long drive back to the downtown area, but at least he knows where he’s going to that point. It’s once they’re there and Nate has to rely on memory to pinpoint the exact corner that it gets difficult.

He’s pretty sure they’re almost there when Wade finally speaks.

“Okay, first of all, you drive like my grandma,” he says, and Nate snorts. “Second of all, how much money are we talking when you say ‘whatever I want’.”

Nate stops at a red light and turns his head to look at Wade. Was there really a chance of this happening _now_ , when he’d driven all the way back here? “I have a five hundred bucks on me right now –”

“Just asking to get mugged, but okay.”

“– and I can stop at an ATM if you want more.”

“I want ten thousand.”

It’s said with such flat sincerity that Nate is momentarily taken aback, but immediately starts doing the mental math of bills, savings, things worth pawning – it’s ridiculous, and he knows it as surely as he knew that he’d had no right to be angry earlier, but he wants this _so bad_ he can almost justify it.

And Wade starts laughing, leaning in and rubbing a hand up his chest, rucking up his shirt and kissing at his jawline. “The light’s green, boo.”

They’re quiet again for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, Nate supposes. For his part, Nate feels like a fool both for his eagerness and for getting his hopes up, he never should have let himself even offer –

“For you, I’d take two grand for the weekend. And don’t cheap out on the hotel, I want someplace with a free breakfast in the morning. And –”

Nate pulls over into an empty parallel parking strip, gripping the wheel tight. Fighting the stupid urge to get angry all over again, because that won’t help. He forces his voice to be even when he asks, “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes. And I wanna go shopping, you can buy me new clothes tomorrow.”

“Is that it?”

“I also want to fuck you at least once. And no shit or piss stuff. You can punch me but not in the face. If you try to kill me, I’ll break your arms and strangle you with them.”

Nate swallows, looking at the other man, the way his face almost glows in the low light of the nearby streetlight, the merriment in his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Wade.”

“Good, cuz if you try, I’ll break –”

“– My arms and strangle me with them, I was listening.” He licks his lips, feeling tired and excited all at once, wondering if that’s just the effect this man has on other people. If it is, he can kind of understand why Wade has off the cuff rules about being hit. The thought of which leads him to wondering if the other would be into spanking. He’s certainly frustrated Nate enough in the last half hour.

Not the time to think about that.

Clearing his throat, he says, “So two grand, a decent hotel, a new outfit…”

“And I get to top at least once during our sexcapades. Plus basic ground rules.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Wade sounds a little caught off guard at Nate’s easy agreement, but he also sounds pleasantly excited, like this might be fun after all. And that seals it for Nate, his own wants taking a backseat to the idea of making this other man happy.

Pulling back into traffic, he makes a U-turn, heading back into the more well-lit streets of the down town, thinking over what hotel would be best. “What changed your mind?” He asks idly, and smiles when Wade laughs, glancing at him to see him adjusting his fishnet top like he needs something physical to focus on.

“You brought me back like you said you would.” He says finally. “Well, almost, close enough that I know you weren’t gonna drive me somewhere creepy. You’re not a creep.”

That’s surprisingly sweet, and Nate feels himself colour lightly.

“Plus I liked the taste of your dick, so jot that down.”

 _Ahh_ , okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update, I'm doing the best I can.


	5. Chapter Four: Wrap My Heart in Cellophane

The hotel they walk into is much nicer than what Wade had been expecting.

Like he got it, Nate was rolling in dough, but who takes a hooker to a five-star hotel for any reason other than to show off? That doesn’t really seem like Nate’s style though; it doesn’t seem like Nate is the flaunting type at all, as softly as he speaks and as easily as he blushes. Even his anger, when it shows, isn’t flamboyant, it’s subtle and growly and kind of sexy.

And that’s sort of the problem, isn’t it? Wade found Nate in general to be all kinds of sexy, just the way he was – awkward, early ejaculation and all.

That was actually kind of flattering, honestly, and hell, Nate wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either – not that that meant anything, rings could come off, relationships could be open, but Wade had a suspicion that Nate didn’t have a partner at all. No one was touching him, and for some damn reason he’d picked Wade out of all the people working those streets to solve that problem.

Which was beside the point; the point was Nate was dangerous in an entirely different way than Wade had initially worried.

Nate wasn’t some psycho killer (qu'est-ce que c'est). Nate was a sweetheart with maybe a touch of anger management issues (but he didn’t hit, and that was nice, though maybe they could get into some consensual shenanigans later), and totally the kind of guy Wade had to worry about catching feelings for.

Of course, catching feelings strictly violated the one rule Vanessa had drilled into him above all others when she’d helped in get into this racket. Never get caught up in emotions over a client; it was unprofessional and a great way to get yourself hurt.

Kinda sucked, then, that Ness wasn’t here to slap him upside the head and tell him to keep his priorities straight. He’d just have to keep her voice in his head (as best as he could, her dulcet tones were hard for even his mind voice to mimic) and keep this breezy. Professional.

Right.

He’s thinking about this, and about how good dinner had been, and how nice Nate’s hands looked, prosthetic and non, and about Dolly Parton’s _Nine to Five_ , which was his _favourite_ work song; his mind is, suffice to say, well occupied as Nate secures them a room, and then offers his arm to lead the way to the elevator. It’s such a gentleman move that Wade has to accept, giggling as his heels click against the marble tiled floor.

Standing alone in the elevator as it takes them up, Wade sidles closer to the older man, keeping his arm entwined with the thicker arm that’s been lent to him. The extra support is welcome, his legs are starting to _kill_ in these boots, but he doesn’t complain. Nate, for his part, gives Wade a look like he wants to pick him up and fuck him right there which is super flattering, definitely enough to get his motor running.

Luckily – it’s probably lucky, right? – the elevator dings and the doors open, and Wade is tugging Nate along toward the room. Nate laughs and pulls Wade toward the opposite end of the hall, where their room actually is. Good thing one of them was paying attention to things like room numbers.

Nate opens the door and steps aside to let Wade in first, and okay, he knows this is a fluke and a one time deal, but damn he could get used to this. The suite is bigger than his studio flat, the bathroom has a tub big enough for two, and the bed looks so comfy Wade almost regrets having no plans to allow either of them to sleep this weekend.

“Y’know I was expecting like a Holiday Inn, right?” He says, grinning as he turns to face Nate, watching that nice ass as the man bends to hand a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door. “They have a waffle maker at the breakfast bar thingy.”

Nate chuckles, moving past Wade and toward the big bed, which is separated from the couch and two armchairs by a half-wall. Already, without quite meaning to, Wade’s imagining them having sex all over the too-nice room, everywhere from the bed to the couch to the little dining table over by the window.

“Come here,” he says, voice heavy with promise, “I want you to lay across my lap.”

Wade affects a shiver, and while it’s mostly burlesque, it’s not entirely put on. Something about that man’s voice lowered that way is damn sexy. “Oh, have I been bad? Is daddy gonna punish me?”

The look Nate gives him is part fond and part annoyed, and Wade appreciates the honestly of that look. It’s not sultry in the least, but it’s sexy because it’s naked truth, and he likes that.

“Don’t call me ‘daddy’,” he growls, grabbing Wade’s wrist when he gets close and pulling him down, so he splays across his lap. Even that action is measured, careful, and he makes sure Wade lands gently enough that it doesn’t hurt. A little squirming, and Wade’s spread like a cat across Nate’s lap, head buried in his arms, knees resting on the mattress to the other side of Nate.

“What’re you gonna do about it,” Wade asks, grinning over his shoulder, and before he can tag another ‘daddy’ on to the end, Nate’s hand swats his behind, hard enough that he jumps a little.

There are several places where he’d received full-thickness burns, where the nerve damage is complete and he can’t feel anything but pressure. His ass is not one of those places, though it’s just as scarred as the rest of him. And normally he wouldn’t be super into spanking as a turn on, but something about the focused, mindful way Nate sets about it… _well_.

He head falls back on his arms and he moans as Nate beats him, feeling his cock harden and knowing that, with his hips firmly against Nate’s outer thigh, the other man _has_ to be able to feel it. He whimpers into his forearms, wanting to hide his face since there was no graceful way to explain that he didn’t usually get like this so quick, but far from minding, Nate seems to enjoy it. His prosthetic hand strokes over Wade’s neck and shoulders, and that feels strange but so good too.

It’s not exactly how Wade had imagined starting the night, but it’s certainly industrious, Nate soon reaching under him to undo his fly and pulling his pants down just enough to show his ass. He seems satisfied by what he sees, bending down to kiss one friction-heated cheek, and Wade whines.

“You gotta stop or I’m gonna cum all over your leg.”

“Said as though that would bother me.”

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt Obsidian_Snowflake posted on Tumblr. Should be fun.


End file.
